Day's Dawning
by Countess Millarca
Summary: When boys have to be men. AU


**A/N: Written for The Lesson in Sex Challenge. So utterly AU that you'll have trouble with names and places and times, but roll with it. All historical events mentioned – however briefly ****–** are accurate. I do know my own country's history and topography at least. 

**Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha. All rights belong to Takahashi, Rumiko.**

* * *

Summer of 1942, Greece, Ionian Sea, Island of Lefkada

A slant of red lips, a slice of smirk, provocation under thick lashes, invitation on lush skin. She was temptation, clad in black cotton and swaying hips. Everyone knew her name, but no one dared speak it, for she was a woman of loose favors, a woman who catered to _Them_. The villagers never spoke of the conquerors either. At least never openly – only behind white and blue stone-built walls. Germany had invaded Greece a year ago, Bulgaria had claimed Thrace and Macedonia, and Italy had annexed the Ionian Islands. They were the conquerors, cruel and merciless and iron-skinned soldiers – but men who had needs. And, in their small island, in the foam-lathered Lefkada, _she_ was the one who took care of Them, who opened her home to Them. The Widow.

She lived in a cottage on the northern shores, surrounded by sea-worn rocks and sun-kissed sand and salt-trailed wind. The gulls' flapping wings, the whispers of crystalline waters, and passion-born echoes were the only sounds that dwelt in her home. She never came down to the village and the villagers never visited her. It was an unvoiced rule, tacit concord between them. The widow's lair was ostracized, improper, full of clandestine things, deeds better left unseen. But to the young and innocent and curious it was the pyxis of treasures, the garden of crimson fruits and desire. Forbidden. Succulent.

* * *

A susurrus of disquiet had amassed in the village. The wind had abated, the air had cloyed – the atmosphere tenebrous, fey. The villagers had barricaded themselves in their homes, yet a babeldom brewed within thick walls, decibels too low, sibilant. A man had come from the North, from the city of Drama, to bring news of the Resistance, to solicit soldiers, brave men, willing to fight for the cause. Miroku had spoken of hope and won raids and mountain hideouts – and had given them a day for an answer.

Sesshōmaru mulled over the traveler's words, yet his decision was already made – a decision his father would neither condone nor allow.

"The Resistance is recruiting. Their numbers have grown, their supporters are many. I don't think the messenger lies."

"We should join them, Pa!" More excited than Sesshōmaru, though only two years younger, his brother agreed heartily. Inuyasha grinned with the freshness of youth, with the impulsivity of his ten and six years.

Tōga stared at his sons, almost scowled. They were young, hot-blooded, their skin wasn't yet marred with furrowed lines, with weariness – unlike his.

"You are still young, wet behind the ears, Inuyasha. The guerrillas have no need for boys! That kind of trouble will only get you killed. Let them fight in the mountains where there is cover."

Though he addressed his youngest, Tōga's words were meant for his eldest. He knew Sesshōmaru would be the one to speak with logic, however foolish it was – and he was right. Tōga was always right, despite his sons' readiness for arguments.

"The Axis promises weapons and chances to retake our lands, father."

Tōga's scowl intensified, knotted his features into a skein of distress. Sesshōmaru couldn't have known the name those guerrillas went by unless he had shared private words with their messenger. His eldest was stubborn as a mule, clever as a fox, but too fearless for his own good.

"So what? You want to leave our island and band with those reckless fools? Always hiding, always fearing for our lives? For what? Rebellion? Ideals? Freedom? No, Sesshōmaru. It's not our fight, boy. We are islanders, we won't survive in the mountains."

"But, Pa –"

"I will_ not_ bury my sons! Never speak of this again!"

Tōga didn't wait for either of his sons to utter another word – they wouldn't. He might not hold rule over their thoughts, but the finality in his voice ensured at least that much.

* * *

"Pa isn't going to change his mind…"

Resignation hid under layers of almost child-like petulance in Inuyasha's voice. Sesshōmaru shook his head, no less determined than an hour ago when they had exchanged words with their father.

"I will go regardless. I don't care for the fears of old men and I'm no coward. If we don't fight now then_ when_?"

"I –" Inuyasha paused then gulped. Sesshōmaru's eyes were rough-edged, his voice steel-armored. Mustering his courage, Inuyasha exhaled a harsh breath, nodded. "I will follow you, brother."

"Good." The tilt of Sesshōmaru's smile spoke of respect, well-earned, invigorated his younger sibling, cemented Inuyasha's resolution. "I'll meet up with Miroku, tell him we'll join the cause."

"Pa isn't going to be happy about this."

"He's trying to keep his promise to mother, to do right by his sons, but we haven't been boys for a long time now, not since they killed her."

Sesshōmaru might have spoken in low tones, but his voice was filled with deadly calm, with hints of vengeance. Inuyasha near flinched, but Sesshōmaru patted his back, offered physical reassurance, if nothing else.

"Eat and sleep well tonight for we have a long way ahead of us come morning."

"What about you?"

"I will be back before the sun rises."

* * *

Sesshōmaru found her sprawled on the sand-strewn shores, under the moon's shadow, as if she was waiting for him, as if she knew he would come this night.

"You've come a long way from home, boy."

"Tomorrow I will go farther more."

She hummed, acknowledged his reason for coming.

"So you are leaving."

Her eyes touched him, stroked the angles of his face, the contours of his body. Whatever she saw in him must have pleased her for she laughed softly, offered him her white hand.

"Come inside, boy."

"Sesshōmaru."

She laughed again – but it wasn't the same laughter.

"But you're still a boy. Isn't that why you've come to me?"

Her lips curled, her eyes darkened, whispered the time for words had ended. She took him by the hand, led him to her wool-plaited bed, undressed them both. Slow motions and deliberate touches. He had never been with a woman, didn't know how to please her, but she didn't expect him to know either. She spoke to him, the sound low and mellisonant, carrying the taste of petrichor. It was everything a woman should be – and _more_.

Then she taught him how and where to touch a woman, to make her moan and writhe and drip with sultry want. He relished the flexing of slick muscles, the tightening of wetness and fire, the eruption of unbridled need. Skin, warm and reddened, sliding against his; dahlia buds, distended and hard, nectar on his tongue; heat, sodden and pulsing, swallowing him whole. Muscles strained and clenched, hips thrust and twisted. Inwards and upwards. Deep and low. Torrid flesh around the length of his erection, salt gathered in dips and strips of skin, on the swell on her breasts, slathered on his tongue, gliding down his throat. It went beyond anything he had ever imagined. Unforgettable, unsurpassed rapture.

* * *

The last dark of the night overlaid tendrils of light, struggling to break through, to announce the dawning of another day, when Sesshōmaru dressed to leave. Everything was quiet, perhaps too quiet, until she spoke.

"My husband left this island to fight with the Resistance."

Wrapped in flushed skin and his scent, she dared him to avoid her eyes, but there was no such need. Sesshōmaru was aware – of her, of her meaning, of everything.

"I know."

Her lashes fluttered once, her lips thinned.

"He never came back."

Sesshōmaru leaned into her, one last time, one last kiss.

"I will."

"Fight well." A murmur, forlorn, full of unsaid things, for they, too, needn't be uttered. "Sesshōmaru."


End file.
